Divine Intervention
by luckylucyheartfilia
Summary: They're immortal and not exactly human, so it's not that far from the truth. Romano gets some interesting help from higher powers, also known as stupid, dumb, meddlesome meddlefriends who don't know how to mind their own business and refuse to keep their noses out of places where they don't belong. Spain/Romano.


_this main ship for this fic is spamano, with a side of minor established gerita and amecan! this fic is mostly lovi-centric too_

_also! my philippines and mexico ocs make small appearances here (mexico is mostly mentioned). philippines is marisol and mexico is manuel, and im writing a fanfic for their history (w cuba, spain and romano too bc hell yeah dysfunctional family relationships that shouldnt work but do in the end)! im so excited oh my gosh uwu  
_

_this is a complete au to all my other fics. in all my other fics the whole risk thing doesnt exist bc frick u why cant we have nice things i want them to be happy damnit_

___this accidentally got really, really long but i dont want to separate it into chapters so here u go take it all at once_

* * *

**Divine Intervention**

**by luckylucyheartfilia**

* * *

"Do not befriend a Canadian. Maple syrup flows through their veins instead of blood. They ride moose to work and are completely immune to winter. They are also passive-aggressive little shitheads who don't know how to keep their goddamn mouths shut."

"That's mean, Lovino."

"Matteo, even if I hate to admit it, to me you're probably the closest thing a nation can have as a best friend. That won't stop me from punching you in the face, though."

"It was so worth it."

This is the story about how Italy Romano's personal vendetta against Mounties began.

* * *

-:-

* * *

The nation of Canada, known as Matthew to anyone who could remember him, frowned at the fluffy blob of white fur that he couldn't remember the name of but was pretty sure he fed daily.

"What is it, Hakuma Matata?" That was his name, right? He wasn't particularly worried about whether it was correct or not.

"Feed me."

"_Later_," the northern nation huffed, blowing a wayward curl from his face as he set the polar bear on the table. It was a little too early to start the meeting, as there were still several seats empty at the smallest conference table he owned. He was really only half paying attention to whatever Kumary Pickford and America were whining about as he took a mental roll call, noting who wasn't there yet out of the small group of nations he invited for an impromptu meeting. While a majority of them had links to Romano or Spain, a few were his own friends who were glad to do him a favour.

"—why'd you come here anyway, Lutz?" Prussia asked his brother, catching Canada's attention. He wasn't quite sure why the German was offering his assistance either, since Romano made it quite clear that he'd gladly throw himself into an active volcano if that was the only way to avoid the blond. If he had to make a guess, though, he'd bet that Veneziano had something to do with it by the way Germany looked away with a blush.

"Feliciano is convinced that Romano will not bother us as much if he's preoccupied with Spain."

"Italians are so cute," Prussia cooed, looking like he was going to reach over and pinch Veneziano's cheeks. Veneziano ignored him, stabbing a finger enthusiastically against something on the paper Hungary was holding. France shook his head in mock sympathy, patting his old friend on the shoulder with a muffled snort of amusement. Canada winced at the sharp pain in his chest. There it was, the compulsive urge to apologize for something that had nothing to do with him and maybe increase maple syrup exports to Germany. It probably had something to do with the incident happening in his conference room.

"Sorry we're late!" _Oh, thank god._ Canada held back a sigh of relief._ Note to self, increase imports from Belgium and the Netherlands._ A small blonde sauntered into the room, the scent of chocolate and waffles lingering around her as she skipped up to Canada to hug him. "Hey, Matthew!"

"Emma, Lars," Canada greeted as he returned the hug, tilting his head and smiling fondly at the much taller blond who trailed more slowly behind the petite Belgian, the end of a long blue and white scarf fluttering behind him. Netherlands nodded in response, expression remaining neutral but eyes softening. The two siblings found seats a little farther down the table, but still close enough to reach the front quickly and easily. A few more nations were still missing, but most of those were notorious for showing up an hour late so he figured it would be fine to start without them.

"Alright, now that mostly everyone's here, let's begin. You all—" As Canada's gaze swept around the room, he made eye-contact with America for a moment. "—most of you, anyway, know why we're meeting today. If you don't, you either live under a rock, don't know how to read the atmosphere, or aren't supposed to be at this meeting. I'm talking about you, Peter."

Sweden and Finland, sitting side by side only a few seats away, looked at each other with varying degrees of alarm and pushed back their chairs to look under the conference table. There was a surprised squawk, and within moments Sweden was on his knees and dragging his adopted son out from his hiding place.

"What are we going to do with you?" Finland fussed over the pouting micronation, clearing imaginary dirt off his clothes before turning back to Canada. "I'm sorry, Matthew, but we should probably take Peter home and make sure he stays there."

"It's fine, Tino," Canada said, holding a hand up as a farewell as the two Nordics led a grumbling Sealand out of the room. "Hockey next weekend?"

"Of course!"

As soon as the door shut behind the little family, Canada slammed his hands down on the table to bring everyone's attention back to him.

"Back to the topic of our meeting. Spain. Italy Romano. Absolutely in love with each other, neither willing to actually do anything about it because Antonio is convinced Lovino doesn't feel the same way and Lovino is too scared to act on his feelings."

"There _are_ a lot of risks in nations being more than friends," someone said hesitantly. "Even friendship can bring its problems."

"It's worth the risk," Canada said firmly. His gaze fell on Veneziano and Germany, moving to Austria and Hungary who looked away from each other, then to France and England, and to every other nation knew what he meant. Wordlessly, he dared any of them to say something. As he looked at America, he said quietly, "Look around you. Every single one of you knows what it's like, loving and being loved. It's always worth the risk."

The nations appraised themselves and each other, some actually contemplating the statement, until England broke the spell with a thick raised eyebrow.

"Please give me one good reason as to why should I help play matchmaker for the Spanish idiot and his rude Italian."

"Why did you even come to this meeting?" The answer was sitting right across from the Brit, of course. France chortled as he pulled a white envelope from his pocket and waved it at England. The blond sunk back in his seat, glowering at the reminder as if that alone could turn the envelope into dust.

"It would be amusing if these images somehow wound up on the internet, Angleterre!"

"Feliciano and I," Canada coughed, because he did feel some sort of pity for his other father-thing and decided to spare him from having to deal with France for any longer, "With the assistance of several others like Papa, Al, Ludwig, Kiku, and Elizabeta, have come up with a series of plans in order to finally make those two get over their fears. Operation Oreo has already been executed and is currently in motion, but we'll need your help in order to make everything else work. Are you all with me?"

There was a chorus of 'ayes!,' a declaration that promised to end their suffering under the suffocating cloud of sexual tension the two Mediterranean nations brought whenever they were in the same room together. Spain and Romano had such good friends.

* * *

-:-

* * *

"What is this, Dump Your Kids on Romano Day?"

If there weren't a collection of young countries, provinces, territories, states, and micronations scattered throughout Romano's house, the Italian would have used every curse he knew against the world. Some were tolerable, but _dear God_ he was so glad most of America's kids were grown up. He couldn't imagine having to take care of all of them.

Romano was actually pretty good with kids, but that wasn't something he was all that willing to admit or showcase. He didn't exactly look like the poster child for Caretaker of the Year, anyway, and he'd probably be the last nation anyone would look at and think, _'Hey, I want to leave my kids in the care of this guy!' _Romano liked to think that over time he built an impenetrable wall around his heart to protect himself from words like that, but they still managed to bite and sting at him.

That aside, Veneziano and Canada were the only people who knew about Romano's 'talent.' That was the only explanation Romano had for why the youngest of Canada's territories was clinging to his arm as he prepared lunch for a fuckton of kids. Those traitors must have told everyone to ask Romano to babysit, and he had been unable to refuse when suddenly everyone else was busy. Like hell was he going to let any kid be around Russia and his little sister for more than two minutes, even if he had to sacrifice his own free time to make sure of it.

_I bet they're not even busy and just want a day off, _Romano grumbled inwardly, the slightest hint of a scowl passing onto his face. He quickly retracted it when Nunavut looked up at him curiously, and smiled kindly at her. The kids didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his frustration, since they had no idea what was going on. He hoped they didn't, anyway. He poured the little girl a glass of milk, patting her on the head before gently shooing her out of the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, however, another girl stepped in.

"Mister South Italy?" the small blonde asked quietly, fiddling with the red skirt of her dress. Liechtenstein was probably the only nation he genuinely enjoyed the company of at any given time. Veneziano, Spain, and Canada weren't free from his wrath no matter how much he tolerated them most of the time, but he had a hard time being mad at the young country who willingly decided to visit Romano that day and help him with his duties as royal babysitter. It also kind of helped that her older brother was a trigger-happy monster.

"I thought I told you that you can just call me Lovino, Erika." The brunet pulled out a cutting board and placed it on the counter, crossing the room to wash a couple of bright red tomatoes he set aside earlier. "What do you need?"

"Wy and Ladonia told me that Sealand has gone missing."

_Goddamnit. _Sweden was terrifying, and Finland was high up on the list of nations that could kick your ass but didn't look like it. Romano shook his head, unsure of what to do. He considered telling her to just leave it be, because the kid was literally a steel fortress and Romano doubted anything could hurt that particular micronation, but when he opened his mouth to speak the doorbell rang.

Romano eyed the pots on the stove top warily, not wanting to leave his cooking alone for even a second. "Erika, could you please get the door for me? Check through the peephole first, and only open it if you know who it is." The blonde nodded before leaving, and Romano turned off the tap so he could start chopping. He could hear the kids playing in the next room, and Liechtenstein opening the door and talking quietly to someone. Footsteps approached the kitchen as Romano focused on a second tomato.

"Lovinito!"

The brunet sighed as he placed the knife down. Spain was the last person he wanted around right now. Normally, Romano didn't mind his presence (although he'd never say so,) but when he was busy cooking and babysitting? No thanks. Seborga was playing with the kids and making sure they wouldn't make a mess, but Spain was just as big as a kid as the micronation and the unholy combination of the two would definitely result in something ridiculously expensive breaking. He found himself unable to voice these thoughts when Spain bounced in and nearly knocked Romano over with a tight hug.

"Don't call me that," Romano grumbled, doing a pretty poor job of pushing real annoyance into his voice. It had been a while since the last time he saw his former boss, so he couldn't really bring himself to complain even if Spain was probably going to end up being a nuisance in some way or another. He pushed the Spaniard away lightly to check on his cooking. There was a startled squeak and footsteps retreating away quickly, a sure sign that the kids were eavesdropping and Spain caught them.

"Are those your kids?"

"Of course not, idiota. Some are Matteo's, some are Alfred's, and some are micronations that are actually old enough to take care of themselves but are still treated like children." Romano growled when Seborga peeked in. "No, lunch isn't ready yet, stop asking every three minutes and make sure Matteo's dog doesn't decide to mark its territory in my living room. If that thing tries to harass my cats one more time, you and it are going outside."

"Aww, you're like a mother to little Angelito and Romeo!" Spain was practically swooning. Romano barely managed to avoid getting smothered in another hug.

"They were gifts from you, stupid, I feel obligated to take care of them." Naturally, he left out how there was an entire room in his house dedicated as a playroom for the little monsters. Spain didn't need to know anything about that.

The Spanish nation simply grinned, taking an apron off the hook next to the kitchen door and putting it on after washing his hands. "Boss will help you cook!" he declared, picking up the knife Romano abandoned without waiting for permission. "Why are you taking care of the kids anyway?"

"Hell if I know." The Italian frowned as he picked up a glass bottle filled with seasoning. "They're all old enough to take care of themselves, mentally if not physically. I'm pretty sure Feliciano and Matteo told everyone to make me take care of them just to spite me."

"I don't know, I think they're too nice for that."

"Clearly you've never tried messing with Matteo during the Winter Olympics." The Canadian's victorious screams in Vancouver of _'we are winter!'_ and_ 'suck it, Al!'_ still echoed in everyone's minds to that day, a reminder to anyone who dared challenge the True North at his own game.

"Uncle Lovi!" Nunavut dashed into the kitchen for the second time that day, Romano quickly making her back up so she wasn't so close to the stove. "Can I have another cookie?"

"Anyu, do you remember what Matteo said about you having too many snacks?"

"He doesn't have to know," the little girl said seriously. _Yep, definitely Matteo's kid._ Lucky for Romano, who was dangerously close to giving in to her request, Nunavut noticed Spain still chopping away diligently off to the side. "Uncle Toni!" Sometimes Romano forgot that Canada had good relations with pretty much everyone, provided they didn't constantly mistake him for America. Of course Nunavut would know who Spain was.

"Hi, Nuna!" The Spaniard didn't turn away from his chopping as he greeted the young territory. "You really shouldn't be playing in the kitchen."

Nunavut pouted, retreating to the doorway and out of the way of the two cooks. She hovered there while watching the two move around each other, fallen into a familiar routine they created through years of cooking together. It was almost like a dance, really, the way one always knew what the other was going to ask for without either saying anything and how they never collided once as they fluttered all around the kitchen. The sight kind of reminded the little girl about something else.

"Uncle Lovi, Uncle Lovi! Do you and Uncle Toni kiss?"

Romano nearly dropped a salt shaker into a pot of boiling water. _Matteo, quel figlio di una cagna, _he seethed internally_. You're a terrible father. _It was one thing for the Canadian to pester Romano about Spain, but to involve his kids too? That was low.

"Papa and Uncle Alfie do it all the time," Nunavut added, blinking up at him innocently. You know how Natalya occasionally does the thing with _'marriagemarriagemarriage'_? That's kind of what Romano's train of thought looked like at that moment, except a little closer to _'killmatthewkillmatthewkillmatthew.'_

"That's different, Anyu," Romano said gently, trying not to make his shaking hands obvious as he redirected her out of the kitchen.

"She really is Francis' grandkid, one way or another. Kids are so cute," Spain said, stifling a laugh behind him. "Lovi, you're surprisingly good with children!"

"Is there something wrong with that?" Romano asked gruffly, wondering if he should take it as an insult or a compliment.

"No, no, it's adorable!"

"Ugh."

As the two eased back into their routine, the sunny nation began babbling about random things like the economy and the weather. Romano mostly tuned him out, his voice a strangely comforting noise in the background as he became engrossed in his cooking. It wasn't until Spain mentioned Austria's name did he snap back to reality. "... and Roderich told me about this restaurant that just opened up! Cestuneruse, I think? Anyway, we should really go there and—"

_He still talks to the priss. _Romano glowered at the stove top, reaching over to lower the heat of one of the burners before pulling a second chopping board out and taking half of the vegetables Spain was planning on cutting. He never liked Austria; the man separated him from his brother for so many years and gave him away without a second thought. _Tch, why should I care? Antonio can talk to whoever he wants to. But why would the aristobrat... _Who was Austria most commonly associated with? Hungary, Prussia... and Veneziano.

_Shit. _Everything suddenly made sense._ They were planning this._ It all added up too neatly. Veneziano knew how Romano felt about Spain, and he was best friends with the Potato Head. The aforementioned idiot's brother was best friends with Spain and infatuated with Canada's pancakes, and the Canadian knew about the crush and often pretended he didn't out of the kindness of his little maple syrup-coated heart. They were conspiring against him, weren't they? He never should have told his brother or best friend about a dumb crush that probably would have died out after a couple more centuries. Probably.

Cursing how pathetic he was, he aggressively slammed the knife down on an eggplant.

...and missed.

_"Merda!" _

"Ack, Lovi!"

* * *

-:-

* * *

"Lovitje! What happened to your hand?"

"Something really stupid." Romano flushed from embarrassment when Belgium grabbed his bandaged hand and cooed sympathetically in the same motherly way she used with him back when he lived in Spain's house. "Antonio was telling me about some restaurant he wants to take me to, and I wasn't paying attention to what I was cutting..."

"You're not one to get distracted so easily." Belgium hummed, the knowing twinkle in her eye causing Romano to back away quickly. "So, what restaurant?" It was one specifically built for the project, but she had no idea where it was or what it was called because Canada pulled her aside to give her job— convincing Romano to agree to go with Spain to said restaurant. It wouldn't be that hard, that much she was confident of, as long as one knew exactly what buttons to push. All she really had to do was back her friend into a corner he couldn't get out of...

"He said it was like, Setoonroos or something? Sounds shifty, if you ask me."

"That's..." The blonde turned her head away so Romano couldn't see her grimace. _So obvious, geez Francis! 'It's a ruse,' are you for real?_ Pasting on a surprisingly believable smile, she turned back to beam at him. "A really fancy place! You should definitely go with Tonio! After all, it's not always he can go to expensive restaurants!"

"But—"

The Belgian tilted her head, looking at him contemplatively. "If you don't want to go alone with him, I suppose Lars and I—"

"No."

"So you'll go alone with Tonio, right?"

"Emma, no, not the puppy dog eyes. Emma,_ please_. Emma, _no_. Emma, come on—"

* * *

-:-

* * *

Not for the first time, Romano completely overestimated his immunity to Belgium's puppy dog eyes by assuming he actually had any.

Spain hummed happily across from him, flipping through the menu while Romano scrutinized the restaurant, which looked wonderfully ordinary but also dangerously French. Their waitress had brown hair and a pleasant attitude to the other customers around them, but it seemed like she was trying to avoid their table for as long as possible. She took their orders quickly and nearly ripped the menu from Spain's hands, prattling something about them being a cute couple on a date before fleeing into the back. French people were weird.

"This isn't a date," Romano established once she was gone, although he sounded a bit uncertain.

"It isn't?"

"Don't say it like that." He barely managed to keep his frustration out of his voice.

"I don't know, I wouldn't be entirely opposed to the idea." Their waitress was back with their drinks before Romano could stop functioning completely. Spain seemed oblivious to Romano's distress, focused on the waitress' back as she retreated back around the corner. "Hey, Lovi, don't you think that the waitress looks kinda familiar?"

Maybe at any other time, Romano would have gotten upset him for changing the subject, but the truth was the waitress actually did seem rather familiar. She was clearly neither Italian or Spanish, and Romano couldn't recall seeing her ever before. She refused to make eye contact with either of them, but Romano recalled her eyes were a pretty shade of blue. He felt that she'd look nicer with blonde hair, however...

Wait.

_Was that Giselle?_

* * *

-:-

* * *

Across the street from the restaurant was a two-story building with tinted windows. No one could see in, but anyone behind those dark windows could see out. This was where the nations decided to make camp in, some scattered around the room while a few huddled around the window with a radio transmitting audio from the bug set up under the table Spain and Romano sat at.

"I wanted to be the waitress," Seychelles pouted, flopping down on the couch next to America. Canada was kneeling on the other end, facing the window and giving directions to Monaco through a tiny earpiece. "I think I'm a pretty convincing actor!"

"You'd just give yourself away," England said loftily from a nearby armchair. France was once again using the white envelope to his advantage, although there really wasn't any point of the grumpy island nation being there since he did nothing but complain.

"That's not very nice!"

"No, it's the truth." He flipped the page of his murder mystery novel, ignoring the island country's scowl and Prussia and Hungary bickering behind him.

"Nimroderich!"

"Those yellow birds are the only chicks you'll ever pick up!"

"Stop acting like some sort of old married couple," someone grumbled across the room.

"We do not act like a couple!"

Back on the couch, Canada and America both sighed at the sight, the latter slumping down in his seat.

"If this doesn't work I'll chloroform Spain and Lovino and let them wake up in a locked closet together."

"Al!"

"Shut up, Mattie, I know you were thinking the same thing!" America wasn't above whining like a four-year-old when it came to the younger blond. "This is getting in the way of our cuddle time." That was the only reason why he was here, of course. Romano was only really nice to Veneziano, Canada, Spain, and pretty girls, and the aforementioned Spaniard still held a grudge against him for some reason. He couldn't really concern himself over whatever the state of the two's relationship was at the moment.

The American was pleased to see Canada smile and his cheeks turn a light pink, but the satisfaction was replaced with disappointment when the Canadian's attention returned back to Monaco almost immediately. Still sulking, America rested his head back and closed his eyes, not bothering to listen to whatever Canada was telling the others.

"They're going to pay the bill soon," Canada announced, checking his watch. "Kiku should be stealthy enough to pull this off."

* * *

-:-

* * *

"My wallet's gone!"

"Mine too." Romano cursed under his breath. He was a talented pickpocket, and could usually tell when he was the target of an attempt. Spain tended to make him lower his guard, though, and he didn't notice his wallet was missing until it was too late.

Monaco put on a concerned face, as if she wasn't sure what to do about them. In reality, she knew exactly what to do, as Canada was giving her careful instructions right at that very moment. She coughed, prepared to edit her speech pattern, as Seychelles said something about her having an easily distinguishable voice. If Monaco were more honest, she might admit Seychelles bluntly said she spoke like an old man, but that would be an insult to her pride.

"Well, you seem like a lovely couple." Monaco looked at the two thoughtfully. Poker faces were necessary for gambling, and she liked to think she was a pretty good actress. "Tell you what, if you two kiss, I'll let you have the meal for free." Inwardly, she did a little cheer of victory when their faces lit up bright red. Damn, she was good at this.

"I feel like you could be fired for that," Romano muttered, fighting his blush down as Spain continued digging through his pockets frantically. He had absolutely no doubt about the waitress being Monaco now; France often called her his protégée after all. "What kind of restaurant lets people walk away with free meals if they kiss?"

_'One run by Francis Bonnefoy,'_ was probably what Monaco wanted to say.

"We're not even a couple, by the way," Romano tacked on.

"Well..." Monaco paused for effect. "I guess you can pay for your meal by washing dishes."

"Lovi, what do we do?" Spain bit his lip, refusing to make eye contact with him. "I promised Francis and Gilbert I'd go drinking with them tonight."

"You put a _time limit_ on this? Just say something came up, or don't bother pounding on my door at three in the morning completely smashed. You've scared the local children more than once." Romano dug around in his coat pocket until he pulled out something red and white. "Oh, I found my wallet. We can pay now."

* * *

-:-

* * *

Across the street, there was a collective wail of despair.

_"He stole my wallet!"_ Monaco barely remembered that she could go back to her usual speech pattern when she was out of ear shot from the couple, and was doing a little whisper-shriek that was usually associated with Canada. _"All the money I won from gambling was in that! Lovino was practically daring me to say something about it too!"_

"If there's one thing Lovino is good at, it's pickpocketing," Canada said wearily, making a mental note to somehow repay the Monacan. All around him, nations were flopped over listlessly over random pieces of furniture, exhausted from being outwitted by two of the most hopeless countries to ever walk the earth. With a sigh, the Canadian sank down on the couch, reaching out to run a hand through America's hair, which caused the American to stir and blink up at him sleepily. "Get the chloroform ready, Al."

* * *

-:-

* * *

Romano hastily kicked his front door open, clutching a bag of groceries in one arm and his house key in another. He kicked the bags at his feet as roughly as he dared, trying to get them all inside the house so he could slam the door behind him and bolt it shut. The moment the last bag was in, so was he, and the expensive emergency lock he had spent a ridiculous amount of money on so not even Netherlands could pick it was in place. Wiping his brow, he picked up the groceries and lugged them off to the kitchen, looking around his house suspiciously as he did. His nerves were still on edge and running all the way home from the local market with several heavy bags took the wind out of him. There was no way to tell for sure if he was safe yet.

According to the townspeople at the local market, some lunatic in a sombrero leading at least half a dozen people yelling in what might have been Spanish had been racing around the town asking for him the entire day. They were persistent little fuckmuffins, that was for sure, but Romano was a coward who was scared of being confronted by an intimidating Mexican and his little gang of Latin Americans and had the advantage of knowing the town like the back of his hand.

It wasn't as if he minded the company of Spain's former colonies, (an obvious lie. 'Family reunions' were also lovingly dubbed as 'Pick on Romano Day,') but at the present time all Romano wanted was to be alone for a while. A long while. Long enough to recover from his not-a-date with Spain the night before and how Spain said that he wouldn't have minded it being a date like _why the hell would he say something like that? _It was as if the Spanish nation was purposely trying to provoke him into doing something he'd regret, and he needed some time alone and far, far away from Spain.

Of course, it seemed that Lady Luck had decided long ago that she'd rather bless his brother with all the fortune. That wasn't a surprise— it was why he was called Feliciano, _lucky_, after all. At least she pitied Romano enough to ship him off to Spain, who spoiled and adored him for years. But considering how that ended up with Romano having to repress the urge to grab the Spaniard roughly by the collar and kiss him senseless for more than a century, he didn't really feel grateful to her at all for her consolation prize.

The sorry state of his relationship with Lady Luck would be further solidified by him entering his kitchen and stopping dead at the sight of the personifications of the Philippines, Cuba, and Argentina sitting at his table and eating all of his gelato like they owned the house.

"How did you even get in here?" Cursing his shitty cardio, Romano resigned himself to slowly putting his groceries away because there was no way in hell that he could get away from the three in his current state.

"Hey, hey, mamá!" Argentina chirped teasingly, more than happy to ignore the question and the _"please don't call me that!"_ Romano snapped as he shoved jars into the back of the fridge.

"Hi, Kuya Vins! We came here to talk to you about you and Kuya Tonio!" Philippines chimed in next to her, kicking her feet back and forth. "Right, Kuya Carlos?"

Romano spun around before Cuba could answer, hands on his hips and wearing the sternest look he could muster up as he faced them.

"Listen, there's nothing between me and Antonio! We're just_ friends_!"

The lapse of silence after that made Romano hopeful that they would drop the subject and leave, but instead the three burst out laughing.

"Are you kidding me?" Cuba was struggling to catch his breath between laughs. "Pa— Antonio looks at you with this besotted expression, like you hang the fucking moon in the sky!"

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie," Philippines managed to wheeze, shaking with giggles.

"That's amore," Argentina sang back, cackling as she gave the island girl a high-five.

"Oh my god, get out." Romano couldn't even bring himself to be angry at them. All he felt was utter bewilderment and horror. "How did you get the key to my house anyway?"

"Pfft, Kuya Kiku. When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine!"

"That's amore! Lovino's name translates to wine, isn't that beautiful?"

"Ting-a-ling-a-ling."

"Seriously, get out."

* * *

-:-

* * *

_"Hello?"_

"Kiku."

_"Ah, Romano-kun." _

_"I bet you wear that mask because you'll kill everyone with your ugliness if you don't!" _The sound of shattering glass was followed by a shriek.

_"Your precious Aristotlekins was a hideous w—"_ The rest of the insult was unintelligible, due to a noise a cat might make if flung across a room.

"Heracles and Turkey, I'm assuming."

_"Hai."_

"Anyway, Kiku, please explain how Marisol got a copy of the key to my house."

_"...No Engrish."_

"I've known you for decades! I know you speak English, you bastard!"

_"Oh my, look at the time. I must be going now, England-san invited me over for lunch. Good luck with Spain-san, Romano-kun."_

"I HOPE YOU GET FOOD POISONING."

* * *

-:-

* * *

The bar was unusually quiet for an American one, but that was how Romano preferred it as he debated whether or not drinking to forget his problems would be worth the hangover he'd get the next morning. The stunt with Cuba, Argentina and Philippines pretty much confirmed what Canada and Veneziano were doing— not that he had any real doubts in the first place— and he was busy trying to make up excuses for not attending the meeting the next day.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

The girl who slid into the seat next to him was gorgeous, with piercing hazel eyes and a cascade of chocolate curls down her back. At any other time, she might have been the type of girl Romano would flirt with shamelessly, but today he just smiled weakly at her as she ordered a drink for herself and sat back.

"I'm Chiara, by the way."

"Lovino."

After they shook hands, Chiara had a small sip of her drink before turning fully to face him. "So, what's up with that look on your face? You've been sitting here and sulking for a while now."

There was something about her that put Romano at ease, a familiarity he couldn't quite pinpoint a reason to. It didn't take much prompting for him to start spewing out his worries to her, about how his dumb friends were trying to set him up. Chiara nodded in understanding, keeping silent as he continued ranting. He didn't really want advice, just time to vent, and she seemed to know that. He might have had too many drinks prior to that though, because at one point he ended up bawling on her shoulder with the girl patting his head sympathetically. With a few carefully chosen words, Chiara redirected the conversation to more casual topics, like how gross potatoes and cheese were, and how irritating it was to have younger siblings.

Unfortunately, their conversation was cut short by a pretty brunette on the other side of the bar, waving frantically at them and attracting a lot of unnecessary attention to herself.

"Cara, Alice ran out again! Monika and Sakura were chasing after her, but I don't know if they can catch up to her on time!"

"Damnit, Licia. I better go fetch that idiot. Nonna will literally haunt me if anything happens to her." Chiara slammed her drink down on the counter, money following it as she beckoned a bartender over. "Hey, you, there's enough for both of us here and then some. This is his last drink, make sure the idiot gets into a cab and back to his hotel safely."

Romano's face might have fallen just a fraction of an inch, as when Chiara stood she turned back to look at him once.

"Hey, Lovino, you'll know what to do when the time comes." She winked at him. "I hope we'll see each other again someday." Without looking back over her shoulder, the brunette disappeared into the crowd. She was long gone by the time Romano thought about asking her for her number, and found himself really regretting it as he was helped into a cab. She kind of reminded him of himself a little bit, and it would be nice to have someone who wasn't a nation to talk to...

But that reminded him of why he tried to get drunk in an American bar in the first place, and when he stumbled out of the cab and up to his hotel room, he forced himself to remember that friendships with humans were just as bad as friendships with other nations. Life really wasn't fair.

Back in the bar, unseen to all by being hidden in the shadows, a brunet man with cat ears sighed as he checked his camera.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy est si cruel..."

* * *

-:-

* * *

Although Romano technically didn't have to attend meetings due to Veneziano being the representative for Italy, he usually did anyway simply because his brother wasn't responsible enough to keep his focus and take notes. Not like there was anything to take notes on anyway, since every meeting usually ended up falling apart at one point or another, but it was fun to time how quickly it took for Germany to go ballistic.

It was only funny, though, when you weren't on the receiving end of the yelling. Romano cursed his alarm clock for deciding that now of all days was a good time to not work. Instead of risking everyone staring and Germany getting angry at him for barging in halfway through the meeting, he lingered outside the door and waited for the lunch break. It would be easier to slip in then. Lucky for him, he didn't have to wait for long, because soon enough the loud chatter inside the conference room moved closer and closer to the doors.

Romano stepped off to the side to avoid being trampled. Veneziano, Germany and Japan were first, completely oblivious to his presence as Veneziano was too busy listing off different types of pasta. America and Cuba followed, dragging Canada in between them with Philippines, Mexico, Netherlands and Belgium just slightly behind the two bickering nations. Other nations trickled out at different rates, Spain being one of the slower ones. For some reason, the Spaniard wasn't his usual bouncy, cheerful self, seemingly in a slump when he noticed Romano and waved feebly at him while passing by.

"Oh, hola, Lovino."

_That's it?_ Where was the little squeal of happiness, the bone-breaking hug, the stupid nickname that he'd never encourage even though he truthfully liked it a lot when Spain used it? Wait, ignore the last one.

Something was really wrong. France, Prussia, and Hungary were whispering conspiratorially in the corner when he entered the room, which was strange because Prussia rarely attended meetings, and whenever he did Germany always kicked him out after the first ten minutes. Before he could start working himself into worry for no reason, a ponytailed brunet stomped up to him, wielding a rolled up newspaper in his hand.

"Romano, I don't know what you did to my irmãozinho estúpido, but _fix it._ I don't care how either."

"What did I do?" Romano was completely flabbergasted as Portugal tossed the newspaper at his head before retreating to his seat next to England. It was in Spanish, but Romano still remembered enough from his lessons with Spain (_not because he wanted to, damnit!_) to figure out what the headline said.

_'Sudden torrential downpour all across Spain this morning, no signs of letting up.'_

Someone slapped a leaflet down over the newspaper, effectively blocking him from reading anything else. Romano blinked in confusion as Hungary removed her hand, and turned his gaze down to the image on the first page. It was a picture of him and Chiara at the bar last night, yet he couldn't recall any cameras nearby or eavesdroppers.

"So itty bitty Romano is all grown up!" Turkey crowed, patting the top of Romano's head. It could have been taken as affectionate if it wasn't completely condescending and had the intent of bashing his brains out. "You've got good taste, kid, she's cute!" A few of the other nations who didn't leave the room noticed the commotion and went over to add their own unnecessary two cents.

"Like, Romano, you _have_ to introduce me to that little girlfriend of yours. I need to know where she got those heels."

"Congratulations, Romano!"

"I thought you were dating Antonio!"

"Lovino, Lovino, why didn't you tell me you had such a cute girlfriend?"

"Everyone thought you were dating Spain! Did you cheat on him?"

"Who's the lucky lady?"

"Is she why you were late today? Romano, you sneaky devil."

Holding the tacky, sparkly pink leaflet away from him between two fingers (it was probably contagious,) Romano turned around to glare at the group assembled behind him.

"What the hell is this?"

"A concept I introduced this morning at the beginning of the meeting," France said merrily as he approached, opening up his own copy. "Newsletters that focus on a major topic for each conference!"

"This doesn't have anything of global importance, it's just gossip!"

Christ, he didn't want to deal with this bullshit. At that point he couldn't care less about what Germany would have to say about his absence, he just wanted to be back in Italy and fast asleep in his own bed.

"I'm going home!"

"But you just got here!"

"Vaffanculo!"

* * *

-:-

* * *

"Romaaanooo!"

"Hnhnhgnh."

"Roma, wake upppp."

"Snghfh."

"LOVINO!"

Romano shrieked, shooting upwards and colliding heads with his grandfather, who squealed in a very manly way and fell to his knees on the floor next to Romano's bed. Romano choked as he turned on the lamp, shocked to see the deceased empire in his room and pouting as he clutched his forehead.

"Wha— Nonno? What are you doing here?" Memories of the first time Rome visited him from the afterlife flooded into his mind, and he scowled when he remembered how he bawled like a baby that time. If that kind of reaction was what the old man was looking for, he wouldn't get one.

Rome perked up, propping his elbows up on the bed, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on his hands. "Am I not allowed to visit my darling grandsons?" he crooned. It was tempting to reach out and squish Romano's cheeks, but Rome knew very well it'd probably result in the loss of both his hands. Romano gave him a sharp look that said _cut the bullshit already why do you bastards keep breaking into my house_, and Rome sighed.

"Well, I went to visit adorable little Feli earlier," the former empire began. That was all it took for fear to start bubbling up inside Romano, threatening to rip him apart or possibly make him chuck his bedside lamp at his grandfather and flee the continent. Maybe he could hide in New Zealand's house for a while; they were a pretty harmless kid, and they didn't really nose into other people's business unless it had something to do with sheep. "He's so precious, isn't he? That boyfriend of his reminds me of one of Germania's kids too, imagine if we became in-laws, heh—"

Rome continued babbling happily about precious baby Veneziano, and Romano mentally went over his long and detailed list of escape routes, trying to figure out which one would get him out of this mess quickly and painlessly. By the time he finally decided on one, Rome was finishing a story about Veneziano and the potato bastard that Romano definitely didn't need or want to know about, and he prepared himself to run from the dead empire.

Unfortunately, Romano forgot to calculate his grandfather being a dead _empire_. Rome was famous for his strength and reflexes when he was alive, and that wasn't something he'd lose after his death either. Without blinking, Rome had his hand clenched around Romano's wrist before the Italian could even get free of his bedsheets.

"So, I've heard rumours about you and a little Spaniard!"

_Kill me now._

"I don't approve, but I suppose I can make exceptions if it means little Lovi is happy," Rome said thoughtfully, releasing Romano's wrist to stroke his chin contemplatively. "I'll have to interrogate him just to make sure he's safe, but—"

"You have no authority to decide who I end up dating, old man," Romano grumbled, before his cheeks burned brighter and he added, "'Sides, nothing is going on between me and Antonio!" There was a creaking sound to the right of the room, and both turned to see what made it.

"You call him by his human name," another voice, this one more deeper and serious than Rome's, said simply. Germania, thankfully, wasn't the type to go through Romano's stuff like Rome was, but he was staring at the picture frames on the wall far too intently for Romano's liking. "Nations only use human names when they are extremely close with each other, correct?"

"I don't think so, Germania," Rome said, waving a hand dismissively. "They seem to use them all the time now."

_"That's because we're not busy killing humans so we actually have time to be nice to each other."_

"Such a shame, isn't it?" the former empire continued as if he hadn't heard his grandson speak. Guilt was for the weak. "Human names used to cause a lot of gossip back in the day. Do you remember that one time when Khemet and Hellas—"

"No," Germania said curtly. "I believe everyone agreed to not speak of that." There was another loud noise, this time a sharp tapping, but on the left of the room. Rome and Germania ignored it.

"Boo, that's boring." Rome turned back to Romano, about to say something else about talking to Spain, only to find his grandson missing. The curtains fluttered ominously in the cold wind from the open window. "Lovino?"

* * *

-:-

* * *

"Kirkland."

"Fernández." England's tone was cold as he slowly circled around Spain, narrowed eyes daring the Spaniard to make a move from the chair he had been unceremoniously dumped on.

"Always pleasant to see you!" Both nations ignored the voices in their heads chanting _liarliarliar_. Spain's voice was cheerful as always, but there was a hint of darkness in his eyes that reminded them both of a time long past. "Now, I'd like to know what made you stupid enough to break into my house."

"You're in no position to demand anything from me." England scowled, crossing his arms in irritation. "I'm here to talk to you about Italy Romano."

"Lovinito?" Had it been anyone else, England might have been concerned over how easily his hostage was distracted. Spain was predictable, though, evident by the miserable look that replaced his glare half a second after his precious little ex-henchman was mentioned. Clearly he still hadn't recovered from the meeting. "What about him?"

"Ugh." England pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, the things he did for his family. And the things he did to prevent scandalous pictures that could tarnish his reputation from leaking onto the internet. "Stupid, mushy, gushy Mediterranean nations..."

"Did you say something, Cejas?"

"No." The blond nation's eye twitched. "I'm not the one asking questions, anyway. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that bloody frog."

"Frog?" Spain faltered, brow scrunching in confusion. There were a pair of evil cackles off to the side, and the Spaniard turned to see his two closest friends striding up to him with rather terrifying grins. "Gilbert? Francis? What—"

* * *

-:-

* * *

"—the hell, you two?"

Romano was glaring the second Canada removed his blindfold. Veneziano did a little bounce, beaming at his older brother a safe distance away, knowing Romano could still hurt them even if he was restrained at the moment. Canada smiled a little sheepishly, but looking mostly confident in his actions as he stood with arms akimbo.

"Sorry, Lovino." He didn't sound very apologetic at all, that stupid Canadian. "We're staging an intervention."

"An interve_WHAT_?"

"For you and Antonio! You have to tell him, Lovi!" Veneziano exclaimed.

"Why are you so concerned? We're _countries!_ There are literally hundreds of other better things to do with our time than waste centuries pining after someone!" Romano stopped, turning to Veneziano with an accusing look. "Have you been neglecting your paperwork just to kidnap me?"

Veneziano ducked behind Canada, quivering nervously. Canada scratched his cheek as he responded for both of them.

"No?"

Romano prepared to make a little screechy noise of horror before Veneziano jumped back out, flailing his arms in a frantic attempt to distract him.

"So you admit that you've been pining after Big Brother Antonio for centuries!"

"NO!"

Always one to unwittingly pour an entire bag of salt into an open wound, Veneziano turned to Canada. "You know, Matteo, you and fratello are pretty similar! In terms of how you fell in love with people and what they were like. History, realizing you had feelings, ignoring those feelings, eventually realizing you were both being huge idiots..." Canada grimaced at the comparison and the reminders before smiling smugly at Romano.

"At least _I_ had the courage to confess."

"Chigi!"

"Ack! No, no headbutting, bad Lovino, bad!"

"I'm not your stupid dog!"

"Leave Labrador out of this!"

Veneziano pushed Romano back down into his chair and held Canada back before the two could start trying to rip each other's curls out. When he was fairly certain that the relations between Italy and Canada wouldn't be harmed, he cut the ropes around Romano's wrists. Keeping the brunet restrained would just make him more agitated, if that was even possible.

"If I ever decide to confess anything to Antonio, which I'm not stupid enough to, I don't want it to be because you forced me!"

"Oh. We never considered it like that..."

"What the hell do you mean, you've never considered it like that?" Romano squawked, hands twitching with the urge to strangle the meddlesome duo in front of him. He stayed seated only because Canada was stronger than he looked, and you did not want to mess with someone who was important to America either.

"But Lovi," Veneziano whined, drawing out the 'i' for so long that Romano grudgingly admitted in his head that he was sort of impressed. "We just want you to be happy!" He left out the part about wanting Romano to leave him and Germany alone, because one of them had to be the nice brother and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Romano.

"I _am_ happy!" They all knew it was a lie. "Don't bother worrying about me, Feliciano. I'm used to being alone."

Veneziano looked like a kicked puppy at that. "Fratello, what are you so afraid of?"

"It's up to you." Canada's was back to its familiar softness as he regarded Romano with the slightest hint of sadness in his eyes. "We really have no right to force you."

Romano looked back and forth between the two for a while, and then started to respond. Whatever he was about to say was paused by some popular Spanish song that Spain set for his personal ringtone. The two meddlers stepped away, unsure of where to look as Romano answered his phone.

"_Ah, Lovi?_" Spain sounded weird, and there was some strange whispering in the background that sounded rather familiar. "_Do you think you could come over? Like, right now?_"

"It's two in the morning, stupid."

"_I know, but you were awake anyway! Pleeease?_"

_Gesù Cristo,_ the things he would do for this idiot. He ignored the small smile Canada and Veneziano exchanged as he headed up the basement stairs. "Give me an hour or two."

* * *

-:-

* * *

Romano arrived alone, grumbling as he dug through his coat pocket for his copy of Spain's house key. It was starting to get light out, only the most crazy people rising at this hour to greet the day. What did five in the morning have to offer anyway? Nothing, that's what. Yet here he was, tossing his bag aside on Spain's couch before wandering around the dark house, complaining loudly about his inconsideration for his guests.

Where the hell was he, though? There wasn't a single light on in the entire place, except from the backyard. That was probably his best bet, and as he headed over he prepared a long and angry speech for Spain about how rude it was to ignore visitors.

Whatever heated words he had planned died on the tip of his tongue when he opened the back door and saw Spain curled up in a chair out on the gazebo in the center of the lawn. The sprawling, seemingly endless gardens were as beautiful as ever, wild and unrestrained, and they were even more lovely in the glow of the tiny fairy lights curled all over the gazebo, tangled with the red bougainvillea. Music floated softly out across the yard, hushed Spanish singing filling the air. The path towards the gazebo was lined with small lights, and as Romano walked into the garden he couldn't recall them being there the last time he visited.

"...Antonio?"

The music stopped as Spain stiffened, his fingers hovering over the guitar strings. His movements seemed mechanical as he slowly set the guitar off to the side and looked at Romano with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

"What's up with all of this?"

Spain's face was a glorious crimson as he picked up a bouquet of colourful flowers, the brightest being two red roses.

_Oh. _

"Francis and Gilbert have been trying to get me to do this for years, but I never did because... well..." To be fair, Romano did have a habit of being ambiguous about his feelings. "Yesterday they were talking to me about taking risks and... I've done reckless, stupid things before, right? This can't be any worse."

_He's not really doing this. There was no way._ Spain was babbling now, quieting at some points to a mumble. "—Lars helped set up, and Francis had to pay him since I couldn't afford it. He said it was worth it as long as I go through with this, so I kinda... and Marisol wanted me to do some singing courtship ritual she had at her house, but Manuel convinced her to drop it... also—"

"You're rambling."

Surprisingly, that was all it took to shut him up. Immediately Spain straightened, thrusting the bouquet into Romano's hands. "Te amo!"

_Jesus fucking Christ, that was blunt. _It sort of reminded Romano of that one time during Philippines' teleserye nights when he mentioned to Spain that dancing around was pointless and if people wanted to confess their feelings, they should get right to the point. _Oh shit, he's really serious about this._

"Don't feel like you have to do anything. You know what, just forget I said anything at all, it's fine, I just wanted you to know—_ mmfph_!"

"Shut up." Romano swallowed as he removed his hand from Spain's mouth. "Look, I'm only going to tell you this once, no repeats. Romantic relationships between nations are extremely fragile and a really bad idea, you know that. There are no guarantees, and forever is impossible to promise even when you're immortal. Things happen. Governments fall apart, economies collapse, people rebel, all it would take is one political skirmish and everything would be over in half a heartbeat. A nation's duty to their people always comes first before their bond to another country, and if the two end up on opposite sides in war, they would have no choice but to fight each other. They're a hundred times more complex and difficult than any human relationship.

"But... I've been thinking about it..."_ I hope I won't regret this. _With his face burning, heart pounding and mouth dried, he forced himself to look Spain directly in the eye. "...And you're worth the risk."

Spain stared at him in stunned silence for more than a minute.

_Wait for it..._

Finally, the Spaniard made a little screechy noise that somehow translated into pure bliss as he charged forward and swept Romano up, spinning him around in a tight hug. The Italian's feet only touched the ground for half a second before Spain crushed him into his arms. Usually, Romano would push him away, but this time he let Spain be as affectionate as he wanted to. They both waited for this for a long time, after all.

Of course, he knew the moment couldn't last forever. He could hear a small whoop behind them, so quiet that only someone who had trained ears could hear it. Romano happened to be one of those people, unfortunately for whoever made the noise.

"I know you're eavesdropping, bastards, and you better get your asses out here right now. And Matteo, that stupid curl of yours sticks out like a sore thumb."

"_Ta gueule!_" Canada whisper-screeched as he gracefully dropped down from the branches of a tree, holding Kumadonna in his arms. "It's hard enough to keep the separatists without you constantly insulting Quebec! At least_ my _curl isn't an ero—"

Veneziano jumped up from a nearby angel trumpet bush, nearly flinging himself over to the Canadian to slap a hand over his mouth. He giggled nervously when he felt multiple sets of eyes on them.

"No one needs to know about that," he sang-songed sweetly, smiling brightly at Germany when he pushed through a large bush.

"Oh?" France's eyes lit up in approval as he popped up from behind a shrub to speak to his ex-colony, looking like he knew exactly what the Canadian had planned to say. To be honest, that scared Romano shitless. "You know about that too? That's my boy. Embrace your inner French."

"Oi, frog, his eyes aren't down there," England snapped, shoving France over.

"Are you _jealous,_ Angleterre?"

America fell out of the tree much less composedly than Canada, falling face first to the ground but still managing to recover his usual confidence and bravado.

"Francis, stay away from Mattie and Arthur, you creep!"

Monaco and Seychelles followed Alfred, trying to pull the French man away from the Canadian. The appearance of the two girls was apparently the cue for dozens of other nations to come out from various forms of foliage to congratulate the two.

_Was the entire world here to watch?_

No one seemed to notice Romano's livid expression softening when Spain came up beside him so closely they were brushing shoulders, and if they did they didn't say anything. With a surprising amount of subtlety, Spain bridged the small gap between their hands and entwined their fingers together, sending Romano's face aflame. Although his mind was screaming at him to run, Romano held his ground, his grip on Spain's hand tightening because _damnit_ he had been waiting far too long for this and now that he finally had the chance he was going to fight to make things work.

"Dinner to celebrate!" Prussia shouted, jumping between Spain and Romano and throwing his arms over their shoulders, forcing them to separate. "Francypants is paying!"

"Hear, hear!" England called out in agreement somewhere in the chaos. It was followed by a sharp _"Arthur, no!"_ from the blond North Americans and a pathetic sniffle from France.

"Felicidades!"

Romano froze, recognizing the chorus of voices. Mexico, Philippines and Cuba tackled him and Spain to the ground, followed by a wave of ex-colonies that probably didn't even want to congratulate them and were only there so they could suffocate their former boss. In the midst of the chaos, the Italian could hear something that sounded suspiciously like an alpaca humming.

"Who the_ fuck_ brought an alpaca to Europe?"

"It's a wedding present," Ecuador announced cheekily somewhere above him. "Madrastra más querido."

_ Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know,_ Romano chanted. Having a meltdown in Spain's garden would be the complete opposite of cool, and he didn't want to add to the destruction of the moment he and Spain had.

_But,_ Romano supposed as a laughing and somewhat sore Spain helped him up, and someone— Picardy?— slipped a photo into his hand. _I suppose this isn't all that bad_. With a rare smile directed at the picture of him and Spain looking at each other with a shared expression that could only be described as love, Romano took his boyfriend's hand and led them all to a feast big enough to feed the world.

* * *

-:-

* * *

"...Alright, maybe it was. Matteo, wipe that stupid grin off your face."

"Ouch, Lovino, not Quebec!"

"Hey, we should set Gilbert up with someone!"

"No. We are not getting ourselves involved with any more of Matteo's stupid plans."

"But Antonio was the one to suggest it—"

_"No."_

"Awww."

* * *

_IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FIC FOR TWO MONTHS AND ITS FINALLY DONE GLORY AND PRAISE __HALLELUJAH i finished this last night and now that im fully awake i dont like it as much as i did at four am_

_im going to be perfectly honest i have no fricking idea where this fic came from. i think it started with the passive aggressive canadians comment and then it spiralled out of control from there. this was supposed to be my first aph fic but then the soccer thing happened (its still hilarious how dramatic the spanish newspapers were about the loss. the reign of spain ends in pain) _


End file.
